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TUESDAY
SEPTEMBER 19, 2006
Detective Inspector Robert Lewis stood outside the doors of St. Giles Church for a few moments, trying to work up the inner fortitude to enter. He had very little use for religion on the best of days, and even less use for the holy rollers he usually had to deal with in the course of his duties. He had hoped to pawn this task off onto his sergeant, Lizzie Maddox, but she was busy on the other side of Oxford tracking down a lead. Nothing for it. With a final resigned sigh, he pushed open the ancient, intricately carved wooden door and entered.
Inside the chapel was open and spacious, decorated with ornate arches and glittering stained glass windows. Lewis admired a particularly elaborate one that stood tall behind the altar, which was rather plain and simple by comparison. While not a religious man, he could, much like his late friend, Morse, appreciate the beauty in these creations.
Lewis's gaze was drawn suddenly away from the window to a man in a black suit walking out of a side door near the altar. Figuring it was the person he was there to see, he started to make his way down the aisle past rows of empty pews, his sensible shoes clicking on the polished stone floor. " 'Ello?" he called out.
The man turned towards him. He was tall and thin, with a long handsome face and short buzzed blonde hair. A white collar gleamed brightly against the coal-black of his fitted shirt, matching the stylish black slacks encasing his slender legs. The silver cross hanging low from a chain around his neck completed his simple outfit. He was a young man, well, younger than Lewis at any rate. Then again, most people seemed younger than Lewis these days, he mused ruefully.
"Good afternoon," the priest returned, genially.
"Is Father Duncan here?" Lewis asked as he closed in on the altar.
"No, he had a family emergency and was called away." The priest walked down the few altar steps until he was standing in front of Lewis. "I've been covering for him the past few weeks." His voice was deep and posh and rather soothing in its own way.
Lewis reached into his jacket pocket and removed his warrant card. "Detective Inspector Lewis," he announced, flipping open the badge with practiced ease. "And you are?"
"Father James Hathaway," came the reply. "Can I help you with something, Inspector?"
"I hope so." Slipping his ID back into his pocket, Lewis swapped it for a photo of a teenage boy. Handing it over to Father Hathaway, he said, "I'm looking for this lad. His name is Kieran Shephard. Have you seen him?"
Father Hathaway looked at the photo for a moment before declaring, "Yes, he was here. A few days back. During that downpour. He was soaked to the bone. I took him downstairs to the kitchen and made him a cup of tea."
"Anything else?"
"A couple of biscuits." There was a quick upward twitch of the priest's lips as he said it.
"No, I mean, that's it?" Lewis clarified. "Did he say anything to ya'?"
"Not much. Just that he was out walking and got caught in the storm."
"Nothing else?"
Father Hathaway shook his head as he handed the photo back. "Sorry."
"Any idea where he went?" Lewis tried, as he slipped the photo back into his pocket.
"None. He just drank his tea, thanked me, and left." Father Hathaway paused for a beat before asking, "Is he in trouble?"
"No, I just need to ask him a few questions."
"That sounds rather ominous."
"His name came up during our investigation, and we just want to eliminate him from our enquiries," Lewis explained with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Standard procedure, I assure you."
"What about me?"
"Pardon?"
Father Hathaway took a step forward as he elaborated, "Do you have any questions for me?"
"I think I'm all set for now, but don't leave Oxford, just in case," Robbie bantered back. And what the hell was he doing joking with this man?
If the priest thought it was weird, he didn't react, stating simply, "Not planning to."
Trying to get this meeting back on professional ground, Lewis produced a business card from his inner jacket pocket. "Here," he said, handing the card over. "Gimme a call if you see him again."
Father Hathaway glanced down at the card then back at Lewis and smirked. "Only if I see him again?"
"Good day, Father," Lewis replied with an involuntary grin of his own.
"And to you, Detective Inspector," Father Hathaway said, making a deliberate show of pocketing the card in his shirt pocket, his grey-blue eyes never blinking, never straying from Lewis's face.
With a quick nod, Lewis turned on his heel and began the long walk back up the aisle. . .and on to his next lead.
THE END